


We Stay Out Of Each Other's Grief

by TheDarkStrategist



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, alcohol tw, alcoholism tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 09:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11010297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkStrategist/pseuds/TheDarkStrategist
Summary: Grieving the loss of a parent is never easy, especially when your brother is inconsolable and your father is more distant than ever. With no one to talk to, Sara decides to take some questionable actions in order to cope.





	We Stay Out Of Each Other's Grief

There were few things harder in life than watching your little brother cry.

It had only been a few hours since they had left the hospital, a cloud of grief and devastation clinging to the Ryder family like a second skin. Their father had been the one to deliver the news of their mother's death, his face as stony and indecipherable as ever. There had been a moment of complete and utter silence, the kind of quiet that made the whole world seem like it was on mute, before Sara and her brother Santos had fallen apart.

Santos had been the first to break the silence with choked sobs and sharp breaths, his whole body shaking. Sara had had to turn away from him, afraid that if she looked at him that she'd completely unravel. Her eyes had stung from holding back tears and she could remember punching the wall, cursing with every hit that connected. She'd hit the wall over and over again until her father and one of the doctor's had to pull her away from it. When she'd looked down at her hand, all she could see was cracked skin and blood smeared across her knuckles. She hadn't felt the pain and the sight of her hand had felt almost alien to her. Like she had been staring at someone else's bloody knuckles and not her own.

After that, they'd all climbed into the car, the drive home tense and unbearable. Sara had spent the entire car ride with her arms around her brother, letting him cry into her shoulder, saying nothing ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~because what could she say? That it was all going to be ok? That Mom was in a better place? It wasn't going to be okay and who the hell knew if there was something after death. None of that was comforting. Not to her, not to him, and certainly not to Dad.

Sara couldn't remember getting out of the car or walking into the house. All she knew was that Dad had disappeared into the back somewhere while she and her brother made their way to Santos's room.

Right now, Sara was sitting on the edge of her brother's bed, his head cradled in her lap, his face wet with tears, his dark brown eyes staring off into the distance. Sara had one hand in his hair, rubbing circles into his scalp, while the other one, the one she'd injured, hung limply at her side, covered in a hastily done wrap.

A lump rose in her throat as she looked down at her brother. It hurt to see him like this. He was usually so calm  and collected, unaffected. He'd never been a very emotional kid. She had always been the cry baby, the hot head. The emotional one.

And God, he looked so much like Mom it made her heart ache. The same lips, the same face, the same dark brown skin and work worn hands from fiddling with some piece of tech in one form or another.

The only thing she had gotten from her mother was her eyes, the piercing blue a stark contrast to her brother's soft brown. Everything else about her appearance drew from her father. Light skin, strong jaw, and a larger than average nose.

She wished she had taken after Mom as much as Santos had. Looking in the mirror had always been so bittersweet for Sara. All she could see was how much she looked like her father, right down to the minutest detail. It had always made her so mad. He was such a hard ass and distant and everything she didn't want to be and yet she looked exactly like him, save for the eyes. She had always wanted to look more like Mom and the feeling was amplified not that she was gone.

Sara could feel Santos shifting in her lap and it snapped her attention back to him. He was looking up at her with tired eyes and a frown that looked like it would never go away.

"Hey," she rasped, her voice hoarse from all the shouting and cursing she had done back at the the hospital.

"Hey," he croaked.

"Is there anything I can do?"

He shook his head. "No, no. You've done enough. You didn't have to stay in here with me..."

"Of course I did. I'm your big sister. I'm supposed to be here for you."

He nodded quietly, his eyes shifting from her to his pillow. "I...thank you. I...I think I need some rest."

"That's probably a good idea," she whispered.

Santos rolled off her lap, his head lolling onto his pillow. She stood up and pulled the covers over him then leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"I love you. Get some rest, ok?"

He nodded and then muttered a sleepy "I love you, too" before pulling the covers his head and burying his face in his pillow.

Sara looked away from him and quietly exited the room, slowly pulling his door shut so that the sound wouldn't disturb him.

She let out a deep sigh and let her forehead rest against her brother's door so she could take a moment to collect herself. Once she felt like she could breathe again with the lump in her throat threatening to choke her, she stepped away from door, grabbed her jacket off the couch, found the pack of credits she'd left near the TV, and headed towards the front door.

Before she could even get her hand on the doorknob, she was stopped by the sound of her father's gruff voice ringing in her ears.

She hadn't heard what he'd said, didn't care to hear it, but that didn't stop him from repeating himself.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

She couldn't see his face but she could feel his stern gaze on her and it made her nerves chafe, like someone was rubbing them with a steel wool brush. "Out."

"Where?"

She shook her head, a few stray hairs from her ponytail falling into her face. "Didn't realize you were hard of hearing. Like I said, I'm going out."

"Out drinking, you mean," he said, not even bothering to hide the displeasure in his voice.

Sara let out a hoarse, empty chuckle. Might as well own up to it. It's not like he was going to believe whatever bullshit lie she told him anyway. "Not that it's any of your business but yeah. Yeah, I am."

"You think that's any way to honor your mother's death? Getting hammered? It's disgraceful. You should"

Sara finally turned towards him, tears threatening to roll down her cheeks, her face red from anger. " _We can't all be as stone-faced as you, you emotionless asshole!_ I just lost the one parent that actually gave a _damn_ about me and I watched my brother bawl himself to sleep so _fucking excuse me_ if I'd like to do something to take the edge off!"

"So you think that makes it alright?! Your mother ~~~~~~~~"

" _Is gone! So I'll grieve however the hell I feel like!_ I've stayed out of your grief, so you _stay out of mine!_ "

Her words were like a slap in the face, leaving her father scrambling for something to say. When it was obvious that all he could do was stand there and act like a fish out of water, she turned on her heel and ran out of the house, slamming the door so hard it almost came off the hinges.

* * *

 

Sara walked down the street, a twelve packwell, a four pack nowof alcohol clutched in one hand, the other holding her current can of beer. The beer was called Overload and was, according to the brewmasters that had developed it, supposed to be the human equivalent of Ryncol. Sara had no clue how true that wasfew humans had ever ingested Ryncol and lived to talk about itbut it didn't matter to her. All she knew was that it had left her buzzed out of her mind in a way that none of the drinks back at Chora's Den on the Citadel had ever come close to.

She drunkenly stumbled past a seedy-looking bar, catching the eye of a group of guys that were as drunk, if not more drunk, than she was. She could hear some of them whistling and catcalling her. She paid them no mind, not in the mood to start a fight with some dumb ass who thought a compliment was shouting about how great her tits looked.

She was content to go on her merry way until one of the guys, a blonde man with a mustache that looked like a caterpillar had died on his upper lip, shouted, "Hey...hey! That's, uh, that's Alec Ryder's daughter, innit? Hey, sweetheart!"

She knew that she should have just kept walking but her drunken curiosity got the better of her. "Yeah? What's it to you?"

"Your dad's pretty fuckin' mental with that AI shit he's pulling! We're gonna end up like the quarians 'cept it'll be worse. They'll be in our head and like...I dunno...fry our brains or somethin'! Some crazy shit, y'know?"

This debate gave Sara a headache even when she was sober. She scoffed and rolled her eyes at the man. "Sounds like your brain is already fried."

"Hey!" he cried indignantly. He seemed to recover from the insult quickly enough because he continued on with his drunken rant. "What's it even for? He tryin' to make a super soldier or somethin'?"

Sara shook her head, the lump from earlier rising in her throat again. "Nah...it was supposed to help my mom...she was dyin'..."

The blonde drunk chuckled. "Well, sounds like she's better off dyin' than havin' some crazy robot flitting around in her head."

Sara could remember much of what had happened after that. Someone had thrown a beer can. Maybe it was her, maybe it was the blonde guy. It was a blur. The only thing she really remembered was feeling like he chest was on fire, anger permeating throughout her whole body, and then she'd blacked out. When she finally came to, she was surrounded by the broken glass of the bar's windows and the bruised and battered bodies of the drunks she'd been talking to. Her skin was tingling, the familiar blue and purple light of her biotics humming around her hands and arms. She looked around to see several people crowded around her, some horrified, some concerned. In the distance, she could see the all too familiar flashing red blue of a cop car's lights."

"Aw shit."

She broke into a run, moving so fast she'd managed to kick herself out of her shoes. She didn't bother to stop and kept going, pushing past stunned onlookers and anyone else who happened to get in her way.

She turned down a nearby alleyway, running until she stood before a giant, rusty chain link fence. Her legs were on fire, her body slow and barely responsive due to the copious amounts of alcohol she'd downed, and she was drained from the use of her biotics.

She was tempted to just let herself collapse to her feet until she heard someone shout, "Down this way!" She didn't care if it was a cop or not. Whoever it was, they weren't going to catch her if she had anything to say about it.

It took all the energy she could must but she stepped back a few paces, giving herself room to run. She moved forward, kicking herself off the ground with one foot and then she lifted herself over the top of the fence with her biotics.

She could feel her energy depleting and her biotics petered out as soon as she cleared the top of the fence, leaving her to crash into a pile of boxes and trash five feet below.

It wasn't the softest landing but at least she hadn't crashed into solid concrete. She extricated herself from the pile, clumsily making her way down the alley.

She knew it would take the cops a while to catch up with her. The streets and alleyways in this part of town were a maze. She would have at least twenty minutes to catch her breath before she needed to make a run for it again.

Sara let out a tired sigh and then took a step forward, planning to look for a liquor store so she could replace the beer she'd lost. Instead, her foot caught on something solid and she tripped, falling flat on her face.

" _Son of a bitch_ ," she hissed irritability.

Something, or more accurately, _someone_  shifted underneath her leg. It was a haggard looking man with grizzled gray hair and a beard that looked like it had been trimmed with a weed whacker. He looked at her with one eyebrow cocked, his lips a thin line. "That's my line, kid. Watch where you're going."

Sara let out a startled yelp, hastily scrambling off the man and scooting as far away from him as she could. She eventually collided with a stack of cardboard boxes and trash, which teetered precariously for a few seconds before falling all over her. She let out a low growl of frustration as she climbed out of yet _another_ pile of garbage. She went to stand but couldn't get her legs to cooperate, so she reluctantly stayed on the ground and took a seat next to the gray-haired man.

The man had an amused look on his face, apparently finding humor in her drunk stumbling. "Rough night, huh?"

"What makes you say that?"

He shrugged, his coat shifting ever so slightly off his slim frame. "Most people who are having a good night aren't bruised, bloodied, and covered in trash."

Sara was confused by his words until she saw her reflection in a nearby puddle. She was covered from head to toe in dirt and she had dried blood clinging to her face. Most of it was around her nose, which seemed to be twisted into a slightly different position than it had been before. It could have just been the dim lighting of the alley giving that impression but based on how bloody her face was, the more likely explanation was that someone had broken her nose. Her hair was a mess. Most of it had fallen free of her ponytail and a good chunk of it was now trying to fall into her face. She sighed and simply pulled the hair tie out of her hair, letting all of it fall to her shoulders.

"I guess you're right," she said. "Though it doesn't look like yours is going any better than mine. Why are you curled up in all this junk?"

He chuckled. "This 'junk' is my home."

Sara facepalmed. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know, I shouldn't have"

He clasped one hand on her shoulder, shaking her good-naturedly. "Hehehe, calm down, kid. I know you didn't mean anything by it." He let go of her shoulder and turned away from her, digging around next to him for something. "You always such an anxious mess?"

"Unfortunately."

"Hehehe. Well here," he said, shoving a silver bottle into he hands. "Something to take the edge off."

She looked down at the bottle as if he'd handed her a dead spider. "What is this?"

"It's whiskey," he replied, pointing at the drink's label. "Jesus, kid. You can read, can't you?"

She shoved him with her shoulder. "Yes, I can read, jackass."

He shook his head. "Could've fooled me."

"You do know I'm already buzzed as is, right? Shouldn't be chastising me instead of enabling me?"

He rolled his eyes and took a swig of his own bottle of whiskey. "Kid, do I look like I'm your dad? I'm not gonna pull you aside and tell you how reckless and wild you're being or how alcohol is going to be your complete and utter downfall. That's not my job. You looked like you needed a drink, so I gave you one. What you do with it is up to you."

Sara nodded then twisted the cap off the bottled and started to chug it, which turn out to be a really _awful_ idea. She could feel the drink burning her throat loke liquid metal and once she was able to choke it down, she broke into a fit of frenzied coughing.

The gray-haired man patted her on the back once her coughing finally subsided. "Well, you could've at least paced yourself."

Sara glared at him. "You think? Jesus Christ, were you _trying_ to kill me?"

"You're not supposed to chug _whiskey_ , dumbass. Thought that was common knowledge."

She wiped at her eyes, which were watering like crazy. "Apparently, I didn't get the memo."

"Seems like it," he mumbled, taking a slow sip of his drink,  as if to demonstrate the _right way_ to drink whiskey. Once he'd finished, he fell silent for a moment, looking as if he was mulling something over. After a few tense minutes of awkward sips and silence, he spoke again.

"So..."

"So...?"

"You got something on your mind, kid? You look troubled."

She scoffed. "What are you, my therapist? What's with the sudden interest in my problems?"

The man held his hands up as if he were fending off blows.  "Kid, I'll be honest, I don't really care what your issues are. You got a troubled past? Going through a break up? I don't give a shit." He paused and laid a hand on her arm. "But I will say this: I've been where you're at and holding it all in like you're doing is the last thing you wanna do. If you want advice, I'll give it. You want me to shut up and just talk to me? Go right ahead. Sometimes all we need is to someone to sit there and listen."

Sara sighed, pulling her knees to her chest. She placed her chin on her knees and glanced over at the man dejectedly. "You really don't mind?"

"Not like I've got anything better to do."

Sara took a deep breath, hoping to dislodge what felt like a rock her in throat. "My mom died tonight."

For the first time since she'd found the old man, she saw his demeanor shift from vague interest bordering on apathy to genuine concern and a soft sort of sadness, the kind that just screams "I've been there before".

"Shit, I-I'm sorry. If I'd knownwell, I would'veI dunno"

"No!" she shouted a little bit louder than necessary. "It's fine, really. You've been listening, giving me space." She frowned, her bottom lip sticking out slightly, her eyes looking off somewhere in the distance. "It more than my dad's done."

There was a flash of emotion that flickered across the man's face, too fast to really gauge to what it had been. Sympathy? Pity? _Guilt?_  She couldn't place it.

"Ah...your dad," he said. "I take it he's been kinda distant."

She chuckled humorlessly at that. "Distant is his default setting. No, it's worse. It's like...it's like..." Sara paused, hands making grab like gestures, as if trying to capture what she wanted to say before it floated away. "It's like he doesn't feel _anything_. My brother cried until his throat was raw, clinging to me like I was an anchor and my father _didn't say a damn thing_. Just kept looking ahead at the road, silent, like he was in a whole 'nother _fucking universe_. He didn't have to say much. Just _something. Anything!_ I'm not asking for some big damn poetic speech or anything...just...just _a fucking reaction!_ "

Sara could feel hot tears streaming down her face and her throat felt like it aaa about to choke her to death, but she didn't care. All her anger, all her sadness, all her frustrations with her father started spilling out all at once and she didn't have the strength to hold it back anymore.

"Mom had been dying for years...we'd...we'd all watched her suffer...unable to do anything...my brother and I had always been _so frustrated_ that we couldn't help her... and then she... _s-she_..." Sara gulped for air like she was seconds away from drowning. "And all he can _fucking_ manage to talk about is how _disgraceful_ I'M _BEING?_ At least I care enough to have a _reaction! He's the disgraceful one!_ "

The gray-haired man pulled her close, letting Sara cry and scream into his chest while her fists dug into his tattered old coat. He kept his arms wrapped firmly around her, one hand rubbing circles into the middle of her back while the other gently cupped the back of her head. They stayed like that for what felt like days to Sara. She weeped and yelled and trembled, feeling like she was going to shake herself apart, while the man held her. He didn't whisper reassurances into her ear or carry on about how unfair the world was. He just hugged her tight, his silence somehow conveying that he knew _exactly_ what she was going through and that sometimes silence meant more than anything anyone could say or do.

Sara eventually peeled herself off the man, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her jacket. He looked at her gently, keeping one arm around her shoulder. She looked over at him, taking in his tear-soaked shirt and disheveled jacket, and she felt her face burn hot.

"I am _so, so_ sorry. I"

He shook his head. "Don't," he croaked. "Don't apologize. You needed that."

She frowned. "Are...are you ok?"

He smiled sadly at her. "Not really. That's always been my problem. I never got to 'ok'."

"What are you"

He raised his hand and whatever Sara had wanted to ask died on her lips. "What I have to say next is very important, so I need you to listen. Because it is important to me that you get to 'ok'. I don't want you and your father to make the same mistakes I did."

Sara nodded. 

"My wife died on Akuze."

Sara opened her mouth again so she could apologize for his loss when his hand shot up again.

"I know what you're gonna say and I appreciate it, kid. But I've heard enough 'my condolences' to last me a lifetime. That's not why I brought it up."

Sara nodded again. "I have a daughter. She's...twenty-seven, twenty-eight now? After my wife died, I was inconsolable. I did a lot of dumb things...said stuff I didn't mean...I was a mess.

"I wasn't there for my daughter like I should've been. All she wanted was for me to talk about her mother, let her know that things would get better. That _we_ would get better. But I...it hurt so much and I..." He shook his head. "I should've been a better father. I didn't hold into her like I should have. We argued, said a lot of hurtful things....and then we just stopped talking." He sighed. "I haven't seen her in seven years. She's probably doing well. She was a smart girl. Probably majored in some technical field and is doing something big somewhere. Something that'll make a difference." He let out a quiet snicker. "Doing more than her old man ever could.

"What I'm trying to get at with all this is that I could've done better. I should've told her how much losing her mother meant to me. How everyday seemed just a bit dimmer without her. I should have held onto my little girl with all my might and never let go. But I didn't. I can't change that. But _you_ ," he said, pointing at Sara emphatically. "You and your father still have a chance. Don't let him go. Tie him to your couch if you have to."

Sara glared at him, her gaze so heated it could probably melt titanium. "So _I_ have to reach out to _him_? He's my father, he should"

"Calm down and listen, ya hot head. All I'm saying is that you need to tell your father how you feel. Let him know how much pain you're in, how much you need him to be a _father_  right now."

Sara scoffed. "Yeah, 'cause being a father mattered to him so much before."

"Then yell at him! Cuss at him! Shake him until he gets it!" he shouted, shaking her by the shoulder for emphasis. "Just don't let him forget that he isn't the only one hurting right now. That he can't just check out this time.

"Just...for the love of God, don't become me, kid. This isn't  what you want for yourself. You don't have to get 'great' or even 'good'. Just get to 'ok'. Ok?"

She tackled him with a bear hug, squeezing the man as hard as she could. "Ok."

She let him go, pushing herself off the ground and back onto her unsteady feet. She looked back at the man, a small smile on her lips. She wasn't happy; she didn't know when she would be able to get to 'happy' again. But she was calm and that was good enough for now. "I can't thank you enough...?"

"Darin T. Weson. Just call me Darin."

"Sara."

"You're welcome...Sara."

They both gave each other a melancholy little wave, both looking as if they were sending off an old friend rather than saying farewell to a stranger they'd met by happenstance.

Sara knew she had a long road ahead of her. Mom had been her family's entire world and now that she was gone, it was like they'd all lost a part of themselves that could never be made whole again.

It wouldn't be easy. She knew that.

But maybe she could get to 'ok'.

 

 

* * *

Everything was not _ok._

Blacking out was disorienting enough without adding a new location to the mix. Last she could remember, she'd been walking out of the alleyway where she and Darin had been hold up and had been on her way home when suddenly everything had gotten hazy and all she could remember was drowning in darkness with the flicker of red and blue lights in the distance.

Sara could feel something solid underneath her. A bench? Whatever it was, she wanted off. It was cold like ice and she could feel the chill seeping through her thin cargo pants. She went to stand, hoping to head over to what looked vaguely like a door, so she could go home.

She was stopped short by a sharp tug on her wrist, causing her to trip over her own feet and fall to the floor, the back of her head smacking against what she assumed must have been the bench she'd been sitting on. She rubbed the back of her head and looked up to see that her left hand was cuffed to the armrest of the bench.

"What the fu"

Wait. Red and blue lights. Handcuffs. _Shit._

" _Son of a bitch._ "

She was at the police station, currently sitting in what was probably the station's drunk tank.

She looked to her right andlo and beholdthere were three other people in there with hertwo men and one womanand they were all sloshed out of their minds. One of the guys had his head between his knees, drunkenly singing what seemed to be the alphabet song while the other guy kept slapping his jacket's zipper like it had offended his grandmother. The woman was curled up into a ball, her hoodie's hood pulled over her face as she moaned about what a wicked headache she had.

There was a sudden ' _whoosh_ ' and the sound of boots against metal, which sounded like the stomping of a giant to Sara's poor hungover sense. A young cop with short blonde hair, freckles, and a smirk only the most obnoxious frat boy could possess bent down in front of her, seemingly entertained by her current misery.

"Well, look who decided to join the land of the living," he joked.

"Fuck off," she grumbled.

"Now, now. No need to get testy. You should be happy to see me. I'm about to set you free."

Sara raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Someone posted bail. You're free to go."

Her eyebrow shot up higher if possible. "Who posted bail for _me?_ "

The blond shrugged. "Stern-looking guy. Tall, gray hair, brown eyes. Name's Alec Ryder. You might've heard of him?'

_Fuck._

"Could I just go to jail instead?" she asked desperately.

"Fraid not, friend. Your Pop is out there waiting for you." The young cop unlocked the cuff on her wrist and pulled her off the ground by lifting her by the front of her jacket. She threw her arms out to steady herself, much to the amusement of the cop. She aimed a weak punch at his head but missed, causing her to lose her footing again. The only reason she didn't fall to the floor once again was because she clung to one of the rails on the wall for dear life.

After she could manage to walk without her legs threatening to buckle underneath her, she and the blonde left the room and went down a series of hallways until they arrived in the station's lobby. The place was mostly empty. There were cops behind the welcome counter and one woman who was sitting in the corner, typing something on her tablet. In the middle of the room was her father, his face even more stern than usual.

"Hey Dad," she said lamely, giving him a weak wave.

" _Selena Sarafina Ryder_ , you are the most _irresponsible_ , _reckless_ , and downright _infuriating_ "

Sara winced, her father's voice sharp like knives in her ears. "Yeah, yeah, I'm the worst. Could you save the yelling for later? Preferably when my head doesn't feel like it's gonna"

She was cut off by her father, who had pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, his face buried in her shoulder. She turned her head towards him, his hair tickling her nose. "Dad?"

"I was so _worried_ ," he rasped. "You didn't take your phone or your omnitool with you. I couldn't call you or pinpoint your location anddon't you _ever_ do that to me again, you hear me?"

Normally, this was the point where she would get smart with him, he'd gruffly berate her for being brash, and they'd just bicker until they got home. But damn it, she was _so tired_  and all she wanted to do was hug her father and never let go. They could fight later.

She returned his hug with a tight grip, her fingers digging into the back of his shirt, her face nestled into his shoulder. "Ok Dad."

They pulled away from each other after a while, both of them looking pointedly at the floor.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Sara said, her eyes still firmly glued to the floor. "I said a lot of terrible things to you last night and I"

She felt a hand on her shoulder and she glanced up to see her father smiling gently down at her. "Don't apologize. I know I'm not easy to deal with. The way I reactedit was wrong of me."

"We're good?"

He nodded. "We're good." He pulled her against his side and jerked head in the direction of the door. "Ready to head home?

"Yes. A thousand times yes."

Sara wrapped her arm around her father and leaned into him. She knew everything wasn't fixed. It would never be truly 'fixed'. The grief was still raw and something like this would probably happen again, as much as Sara wished it wouldn't. They'd make mistakes, hurt each other, storm off. It was going to be a difficult time for all of them.

And maybe it was the leftover buzz of last night tingling on her skin or the comforting feeling of having her father's arm around her, but for the first time in a long time, Sara felt something akin to optimism.

They were going to be ok. Maybe not now, maybe not soon. But they were going to get there.

Someday.

* * *

 


End file.
